


Anthesphoria

by captainkaltar



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Alternate Universe - Hades and Persephone Mythology Fusion, Language of Flowers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 20:17:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17250701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainkaltar/pseuds/captainkaltar
Summary: A fluffy little Hades and Persephone AU I wrote for Blanc Ci for the 2018 Sheith Secret SantaBecause the world can never have enough Hades and Persephone AUs!





	Anthesphoria

He really should have remembered to bring a cloak. His light summer tunic, wheat-gold silk embroidered with flowers and tied in place with thin green ribbons, clung to his body as he half-walked, half-slipped down the rocky path, careful to hold his torch nice and high, not to let it fall. This path had become so familiar over the last few centuries, smaller and less ominous than the one mortal souls traveled on their final journey. And unlike that path to the underworld, this one was designed to be exited as well as entered. 

He smiled to himself as he remembered how proud Shiro had been when he carved this path from solid stone, when they’d walked it together for the first time, his husband’s strong, sturdy arm around his shoulder. “Only for you, my sweet.” He’d smiled as they’d reached the light at the end of the climb through the darkness, where the Underworld met the land of mortals. He’d blown one final kiss as they parted, Keith promising to return in six months, a promise he made every spring. These last six months had seemed interminably slow, worse than usual. He’d spent the summer longing for the comforting dark, for his jewelled garden where they’d sit together and talk, for the velvet-curtained bed where Shiro would cradle him in his arms as they slept, Kosmo curled at their feet. 

Suddenly, something huge barrelled into him, something furry and warm and lively, three tongues lapping at his face, barks echoing through the cavernous land. 

“Kosmo! Kosmo boy, it’s me! I’m back, I’m finally back!” He grinned, scratching behind each of the might hound’s ears in turn, all six of them. Six pairs of eyes watched him eagerly, three plumed tails wagging. 

“Kosmo, come here!” The voice emerging from the darkness was as rich and deep as onyx, husky as a vein of granite and so familiar it made Keith’s heart jump into his throat. He tried to struggle to his feet, to run toward that lovely voice, when a pair of arms curled around his waist, one muscle and bone, the other cold, cyclops-forged metal. 

He gasped in surprise as the mighty Lord of the Underworld, he who’s name went unspoken, Receiver of Many Guests, Commander of the Dead, lifted him in his arms and spun him around, his laughter ringing through the columned hall that served as an entryway to their palace.  
“My love! My little Keith, how I missed you!” 

“I missed you too…” Keith couldn’t keep the smile off his face, gently cupping Shiro’s cheek, running a finger over the familiar scar slashed across that handsome face. “Stars above, I missed you so much…” 

“You’re shivering.” Shiro pulled him closer, Keith’s legs draped over his metal arm. “Here, how’s this?” He pulled his cloak out so that it covered them both, Keith sighing contentedly as the familiar scent and the well-worn black velvet enveloped him. He found his face flushing as Shiro’s lips found first his cheeks, then his nose, working their way up his forehead and into his hair, wandering through his dark curls with kiss after kiss. 

“You wore a narcissus crown.” Shiro smiled, carrying Keith up the palace steps to their bedchambers. “How did you remember those are my favourite flowers?” 

“Because you never fail to remind me.” Keith grinned; this was a ritual they underwent every fall, the game of pretending this was a new conversation. “Every spring, you tell me to come home wearing a crown of narcissus, and you tell me how beautiful they look in my hair. And you remind me of how you used them to win me over and bring me here. Every spring.” He playfully pinched Shiro’s cheek, making the King of the Underworld blush and look away shyly, like a forest nymph receiving a compliment from a more powerful god. He missed this, missed this soft, almost delicate side of Shiro, that only he was lucky enough to witness. 

“Take me to the garden, my love?” This was another tradition, another comfort. 

“I thought you’d want that.” Shiro gently kissed Keith’s lips as they passed through the dark and looming halls of the palace. Their bedchambers were at its very heart, impossible to find without getting lost, for anyone except them and Kosmo. Keith sighed happily as his husband carried him through the familiar rooms, taking in the jewel-encrusted ceilings, the walls painted with black leaves and pale grey flowers, the lush, curtained bed with its nearly infinite pillows. Soon, soon Shiro would lay him there and they would sleep heavily, twined in each other’s arms. But first, the garden. Every fall, they returned to the garden. 

It was nothing compared to what his mother tended aboveground, what he helped her with every summer. The only plants that could grow below ground were steeped in enchantment, left suspended and unchanging whenever Keith had to leave. Try as he might, Shiro could never persuade them to grow. His domain was that of stone, of gems and crystals, of slow, gradual change. The shifting of seasons went by too quickly to affect him. Except, of course, when it came to his love. 

“Did you rearrange the mosaics over the summer?” They sat together on a bench of carved crystal, strategically placed at the centre of the garden. The pomegranate tree had begun to shed its leaves again, dark crinkled things scattered across the gem-studded path. There was more citrine there than Keith remembered, bright yellow petals cutting through a background of dark onyx and smokey quartz. The garnets hadn’t been there last winter either, deep and heavy drops of crimson. 

“I did. It gave me something to do without you.” Shiro’s metal arm curved around Keith’s waist, holding his husband close in his lap. “Recognize the patterns?” His flesh and bone hand traced a line along the path, pointing out the shapes of narcissus flowers, of pomegranates scattering their garnet seeds. 

“Oh- oh Shiro! Shiro, my love!” Keith flung his arms around his lover’s neck, pressing him into a fond, eager kiss. “You missed me more than usual this time, didn’t you?” 

“You were gone so long, my sweet.” 

“My mother chastised me for bringing a late spring.” Keith sighed, resting his head on Shiro’s shoulder. “She said I cannot let the summers grow too short, winter cannot overtake the land. She worries about the mortal folk, she’s been spending more and more time wandering among them.” 

“Of course she is…” The lady Krolia was a peaceful, kindly soul, for all the fierceness with which she protected her only son. Despite her power as goddess of the harvest, the endless bickering of the other Olympians often drove her away from their sacred mountain and into the realm of mortals, on long journeys with no real destination, stopping in one of her temples here and there. Keith had journeyed with her over the summer, never staying still for too long, as fleeting as the first buds of spring. He was ready for winter, for stillness and long nights. He leaned into his husband’s gentle touch, strong fingers combing through his hair, brushing over the narcissus lacing his curls. 

“You know I’ll always come back for you, no matter how long she makes me stay.” Keith reached up to clasp Shiro’s hand, a narcissus petal crushed between their fingers.

“I know that, my love, I know.” Their bodies pressed together in a slow, languid kiss, Shiro’s lips as warm and lush as the colour of garnets against his own. The summer had been a hot one, but Keith had never felt quite so warm until now, wrapped in his husband’s arms and his cloak, the velvet darkness shrouding him and keeping him safe for winter.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays, Blanc Ci! I hope you had very good ones, and hope you have a lovely, Sheith-filled new year!
> 
> The title of this fic is an ancient Greek epithet for Persephone. It comes from the name of a festival dedicated to her, where people would gather flowers to celebrate her descent into the Underworld.


End file.
